


October prompts: Massage

by theonetruenorth



Series: October writing prompts 2020 [15]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Intimacy, Kinktober, M/M, Massage, October prompts 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:29:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonetruenorth/pseuds/theonetruenorth
Summary: “Your shoulder is bothering you,” Ragnar said as he moved around his tent, stripping off his armor and washing his face and hands in a basin. He looked at Athelstan after, seeing the monk finish his cup of ale and set it down.“It’s nothing,” Athelstan reassured him, “I must have just pulled a muscle.”“Let me be the judge of that.”
Relationships: Athelstan/Ragnar Lothbrok
Series: October writing prompts 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948783
Comments: 4
Kudos: 155





	October prompts: Massage

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-read. I'm not a native English speaker, so please don't mind any grammar mistakes and/or typos you might find.
> 
> My first ever story in Vikings fandom. Be gentle with me.  
> I've started watching some time ago and now Ragnar and Athelstan live rent-free in my brain.
> 
> Set in Wessex, shortly after Ragnar gives Athelstan his arm ring, but before they reach the abbey and raid it.

Ragnar wasn’t quite sure how it all happened.

It started innocently enough. Athelstan had been sore and tired after the recent battle, their snail-paced crawl through Wessex halted once more. It wasn’t a huge fight, no more than two dozen men that patrolled the area, nothing like the main force that King Ecbert might throw at them later. Despite all the training he had done to prepare for this raid, Athelstan’s body was still unused to fighting, presenting him with new aches and pains every time he moved wrong.

Ragnar noticed his discomfort. Of course he noticed. He was always watching, always observing, always paying attention.

“Your shoulder is bothering you,” Ragnar said as he moved around his tent, stripping off his armor and washing his face and hands in a basin. He looked at Athelstan after, seeing the monk finish his cup of ale and set it down. 

“It’s nothing,” Athelstan reassured him, “I must have just pulled a muscle.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Athelstan did not protest when Ragnar touched his back over the tunic he wore, when he prodded at his flesh, making him twitch when he hit a tender spot. His monk was always too trusting, too sure that no harm would come to him in Ragnar’s presence. It was as heart-warming as it was dangerous. Ragnar hoped that in the future Athelstan would be more wary of others, if only for his own good.

“Strip,” Ragnar said, his tone commanding and firm. When Athelstan gave him a look over his shoulder, Ragnar only raised one eyebrow, as if he expected to be obeyed. “Take off your shirt.”

“Ragnar…”

“I will not have you in pain when I can do something to fix it,” Ragnar rolled his eyes. “Now strip. Don’t make me repeat myself for the third time.”

It wasn’t a threat, not really. Athelstan was under his command because he wished it, not because Ragnar owned his life. The ring around Athelstan’s left wrist was proof of that. Athelstan owed him nothing anymore. Nothing he wasn’t willing to give. 

With the shirt off, Ragnar could clearly see the way Athelstan had changed. The soft, fragile body of a boy was long gone and in its place was now stood a man, lean and tough and already marked by battle. Athelstan had taken time to wash the blood, mud and grime of himself earlier in the river and his skin showed signs of bruises, even an odd scar or two from his training.

Ragnar wasn’t sure if he should mourn the loss of childish innocence, or celebrate this transformation of a boy into a warrior.

Perhaps a little of both.

“Sit on the bed.” Another order wrapped in a soft tone and again, Athelstan listened. He sat with his vulnerable back to Ragnar, unshaken in his faith that Ragnar could help ease his pain. A dip in the bed behind him made him hesitate, but he didn’t turn, only twitched a little when Ragnar’s hands were on his shoulder, warm and slippery.

“Oil,” Rangar said in lieu of explanation. “It will make this easier.”

It hurt, at first. Ragnar could see the way Athelstan’s jaw clenched, the way his hand formed a fist. Ragnar dug his fingers into the muscle, deep and sure, easing the knots away. Elevating the pain meant making it worse at first, but once that stage had passed, Athelstan relaxed, the strain in his neck easing out, his fingers straightening out again to grasp at the fabric of his trousers.

“It’s better, no?” Ragner asked, smoothing his fingers down Athelstan’s right shoulder blade and over his spine, feeling the knobs underneath his fingertips, pressing ever so slightly to prod the now unresisting muscle into relaxing more. 

“Yes,” Athelstan whispered, eyes closed as he relished in the pain-free touch, “it’s good.”

Ragnar’s hands were on his sides now, Ragnar’s whole body close enough for Athelstan to feel his breath at the nape of his neck. The moment grew tense again, for different reasons, and Athelstan turned his head a little to the side to catch Ragnar’s gaze and hold it, for what seemed like an eternity.

Ragnar didn’t dare to move. He couldn’t. Whatever happened next, it had to be Athelstan’s decision. They were not a master and a slave anymore. Taking without permission was not his right. They were not even an Earl and his warrior. They were just two free men, and one of them had to make a choice.

Athelstan’s gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his face and then finally, _finally_ , whatever internal conflict had raged in him found an outlet when he leaned back and captured Ragnar’s mouth with his.

It happened quickly, after that. Ragnar’s hands, still slippery with oil, found their way down Athelstan’s chest as they kissed, making swift work of the laces of his pants. Athelstan let out the most curious, most delicious sound when Ragnar wrapped one slick hand around his cock, the other reaching even further down to hold his sack. Ragnar swallowed that little noise, feeling his heart soar when Athelstan wrapped his hands around Ragnar’s forearms. Not pushing him away, no, just holding on as Ragnar brought him to new heights. 

He could spend the rest of his life kissing Athelstan. It was such a different feeling, compared to women in his life. Different, but no less exquisite. The scrape of the beard, the softness of lips, the clever tongue that still lacked practice. Ragnar was looking forward to teaching him.

He stroked Athelstan until the other man was spent, releasing into his hands with a soft, high moan that Ragnar wanted to hear more of. He held his monk close as Athelstan let his weight rest against Ragnar’s stronger chest, allowing him to catch his breath. Tiny shudders shook Athelstan’s frame and Ragnar pressed another kiss to the side of his neck, gentling him through the aftershocks of his pleasure. Waiting for him to calm, so that he could ruin him all over again, in the sweetest, most enjoyable way possible.

He was in no rush. They had the entire night.


End file.
